


anything your heart desires

by spookiist



Series: halcyon days [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Fluff, Gen, Short & Sweet, blink and you miss it angst, no beta we fake our deaths, the batkids make wishes!! :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25378825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookiist/pseuds/spookiist
Summary: There are a million ways to make wishes, from wishing on fallen eyelashes to shooting stars. Maybe the universe will be kind enough to grant them theirs.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Series: halcyon days [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837864
Kudos: 16





	anything your heart desires

**Author's Note:**

> the idea came to me in a dream :) !! pretty neat, huh?

**the first robin of spring**  
 _make a wish on the first robin you see in spring before it flies away._

Soft swirls of pinks and oranges begin to gradually fade as the clouds part to make way for the sun. The grass is wet with dew, the droplets glittering when the light hits it just right. 

Dick is lying down on the damp grass, surrounded by daffodils and azaleas, his eyes droopy and weary. He watches as the sky turns from a colorful display of fiery tones to a vibrant cerulean blue. The air is cool against his skin, a sense of nostalgia overcoming him as the breeze blows away the strands of hair that had fallen to his face. 

If he closes his eyes, he thinks, he could probably feel the phantom weight of his mom’s hand brushing away the stray hairs from his face. If he closes his eyes, he thinks, he might hear her say: _“My little Robin, look at how long your hair’s grown.”_

And he’ll blow a raspberry, knowing that what she actually means is that it’s time for a haircut. He’ll pout and take a handful of his mom’s clips and stick them in his hair. He’d say: _“I get to put on more hair clips, then!”_

She’ll laugh and fix them anyway because Dick somehow made his hair even messier. He’ll ask if she can replace the dull clips with the sparkly ones, pointing at his mom’s box of accessories. She wouldn’t have it in her heart to say no to her little robin, not when his bright blue eyes are scintillating with glee and his smile is so wide it’s infectious. 

Dick doesn’t even realize he had his eyes closed. The memory fades as he opens his eyes and is greeted by a beam of sunlight. He squints. 

He rolls over to his side, using his forearm as a pillow. Beside him are daffodils—bright and yellow like his cape. Like Robin’s cape, now. Sometimes he wonders if his parents are watching over him. He likes to think that they’re proud of him. Of Robin. 

More often than not, he finds himself imagining his parents’ presence, picturing their smiles, and recalling the sound of their voices. He tells them about everything. About the new tricks he’s learned, the people he’s saved, the amount of schoolwork he has. 

Sometimes he has bad days and he feels like the world is out to get him. On those days, there’s nothing more he wants than to feel his parents’ hugs and hear their voices for real. But he’s Dick Grayson: professional acrobat, part-time student, part-time vigilante. So he pushes through. He turns his bad days into good days. He’ll recreate his dad’s favorite recipes with Alfred, or drag Bruce to the zoo to go see the elephants, or tell them stories about his time in the circus during lunch. Sometimes all three. Sometimes more. 

But today is a good day and so he stays in the garden. Today he’s on the ground because he doesn’t need to be anywhere else. The trees will wait for him and so will the city.

Springtime in Gotham is a bit chillier than what he’s used to but he doesn’t mind. It’s a nice change. He’s used to constant changes, what with growing up in a traveling circus and all. It’s safe to say he’s never been in a garden this spacious and well-maintained. He can hear the chirping of the birds in the distance, the rustling of the leaves, the gentle hum of the wind. He’s never stayed this long in one place before. 

Yet there he is, being lulled to sleep by the songs of nature with the sun shining on his face and dewy grass underneath him. A part of him still misses the circus but another part of him has learned to let it go. 

He’s on the verge of falling asleep when he hears the soft thuds of footsteps approaching. He sits up, blinking slowly as Bruce crouches down next to him with a plate of scones. 

“Alfred said you were napping in the garden,” Bruce says with a chuckle. There are bits of grass and dirt on one side of Dick’s face. He sighs and shakes his head, but his lips curve ever-so-slightly into the Batman-equivalent of a fond smile. He sets down the plate of scones on Dick’s lap and takes out a pristine, white handkerchief (Alfred always reminds them to keep one on their person at all times) which he uses to wipe off the muck on Dick’s face.

The action reminds Dick of how his dad used to help him wipe off his make up after performances. Bruce always tells him that he would never ever replace his dad but he does a lot of things that remind him of dad. He knows Bruce doesn’t know he’s doing it—doing things his dad does—so it might just be a dad-thing. It irks him sometimes, but on other times (and days like these), it’s comforting.

Dick reaches for a scone, except Bruce lightly smacks his hand away and tells him he needs to wash his hands before he touches his food. Alfred’s orders, he adds when Dick pouts and crosses his arms in a childish manner. No one ever disobeys Alfred so Dick runs off to the nearest sink and washes his hands thoroughly. When he returns to his spot in the garden (which he claimed on his first day at the manor), there’s a picnic blanket and way more sweets than he’s allowed to eat for breakfast. 

“Don’t tell Alfred,” Bruce says, handing him a plate of chocolate cake. 

“Scout’s honor,” Dick says. He and his dad used to do the same thing—hide sweets from mom. Dad would’ve gotten along well with Bruce, he thinks. 

Bruce tells him about the gossip he hears at work, his favorite hiding spots throughout the manor when he was a child, the flowers in the garden, that one time he tried to build a treehouse all by himself when he was 14 years old. They bask in the sun, trading stories, and Dick has to pin back his bangs to stop them from falling into his eyes because he hasn’t laughed this hard since Spring began.

Dick is in the middle of animatedly telling stories about Zitka—the elephant from Haly’s—when he hears it. 

“Dick, are you-”

“Shh.” He brings his index finger to his lips as he slowly makes his way to a tree. “You have to make a wish.”

He shuts his eyes tight and crosses his fingers. When he opens his eyes, the robin is still perched on a branch and Dick internally cheers. 

“Bruce! Bruce!” He whisper-yells, running back to the picnic blanket. “Did you make a wish?”

“What for?”

“You gotta make a wish on the first robin you see in Spring! Mom says they bring good luck.”

Bruce watches as the robin flies away, chirping happily. He smiles. “Yes, I suppose they do.” 

They spend the rest of the morning lazing about underneath the sun, with more cookies than they can eat and laughter in the air. Robin has a whole new meaning to Bruce, and Dick feels in his heart that the little robin will grant him his wish, just as the other robins have done for him. 

**Author's Note:**

> check out my [tumblr](https://virgilsinferno.tumblr.com/) if you want !! talk to me abt tim drake !!


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